


Welcome

by california_112



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Action, FPC: 48 | Welcome, Fifty Prompt Challenge, Gen, No Dialogue, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: His vigilance uncharacteristically relaxed for one fatal minute, Biggles only heard the third triplane when it was too late, and the half-roll he automatically performed to try and evade the withering fire was pointless. Before he had had time to fully grasp the situation, he noticed tiny flames licking backwards from his engine, and dived in an effort not to let them reach the doped fabric that covered the machine.-or-Biggles gets into a tricky situation, and can only hope that his friend comes back to help him.ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHINGThis is part of the Fifty Prompt Challenge, 48 - Welcome.
Kudos: 3





	Welcome

The only thing he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing. Lying in a field staring at the sky, the smoke from a nearby fire occasionally drifting above him, Captain Bigglesworth had to admit that at this point, he was completely stumped.

Sitting up didn’t change much, although the fire was revealed to be that of a hedge that had collided with an aeroplane- his aeroplane, if his little memory was anything to go by. His head hurt, but that wasn't something new, as the dull ache was about the only thing he could remember. Maybe, if he put his mind to it, he might remember more.

* * *

The chatter of guns, and their evil tattoo on the black crossed machine in front of him, was music to Captain Bigglesworth's ears. Zooming away from his second kill of the dogfight, he looked around to see how the others were faring, and almost immediately locked eyes with Algy Lacey, his friend and fellow Camel pilot. Exchanging grins, they fell alongside each other, and soon after another of their machines made up the familiar 'V' of the morning patrol. As the sky was now clear, the pair of Huns they had bumped into now quite firmly bumped off, the trio headed back towards 266's aerodrome for breakfast.

His vigilance uncharacteristically relaxed for one fatal minute, Biggles only heard the third triplane when it was too late, and the half-roll he automatically performed to try and evade the withering fire was pointless. Before he had had time to fully grasp the situation, he noticed tiny flames licking backwards from his engine, and dived in an effort not to let them reach the doped fabric that covered the machine. As he did, he noticed another machine keeping pace with him, a Hun- but something wasn't right. The pilot lolled back in his seat, and even Biggles' brief glance at the yellow fuselage showed it was riddled with bullet holes. Returning to his own situation, the flames were out- but the ground was less than three hundred feet away. Pulling up abruptly, the engine dead, he dropped like a stone into a well-placed field, rumbling along at still far too fast a pace.

This was bought up abruptly by a hedge, and just as the heat was first felt on his back, Biggles was scrambling from the wrecked machine, hoping to get as far away as possible before-

It blew. For a moment, the world was fire and flame, then complete and utter darkness.

* * *

As these events came rushing back to him, Biggles realised what the full implications of this were. Quickly patting himself for any burns, and finding only a singed flying jacket, he took stock of his situation- stranded behind enemy lines, though not for the first time, he would have to make his way home somehow. Capture could not even be considered as an option, he still had a war to win! But plopped in the middle of a field as he was, he was a sitting duck in the most literal sense.

The tree line was only a short jog away, but he felt he had to rest as soon as he got there. That explosion had knocked him out properly, and his head rocked. The sooner he was back at Maranique, downing beers with the others, the better.

This thought in mind, he set out in the direction of the lines, vaguely planning to wait for nightfall before actually trying to cross anywhere. Hopefully he'd make breakfast tomorrow morning, even if he was forced to miss it today.

Struggling through the dense trees, he suddenly came upon a farmhouse, half missing but smoke rising from the chimney. As he watched, concealed in the bushes, a woman came out the back door with a basket, and started to hang laundry on a line strung between two trees. Watching for a full fifteen minutes, he became sure that this woman and her husband, who could be seen inside, were the only people there. Emerging just as the woman bent down to pick up the basket again, she jumped with surprise when she looked up and saw him, but remained silent as Biggles pointed to the obviously not-German badges on his tunic.

The woman clearly understood, though no words had been used, and led him into the house behind her. Seated at a table with no views of the road nearby, Biggles was made to feel welcome by a glass of wine and some much-needed breakfast.

As he was finishing this, the roar of a low-flying aeroplane made him leap up, at first with the idea of hiding, but then, as he recognized the familiar chatter, to return to his crash site. In his best French, though it was quite broken, he thanked the couple for their hospitality, and hurried back through the woods. As he had expected, another Camel stood neatly parked in the field, Algy desperately gesturing to him to climb onto the wing so they could get away quickly.

Without a word Biggles obeyed, and was soon soaring over the lines, wind biting at his fingers even through his gauntlets. As Maranique finally came into view, he felt safer than he had since the crash, and looked forward to planting his feet firmly on the right side of the lines again.

**Author's Note:**

> long and irrelevant to the title, but thats ok
> 
> Maybe, just maybe, I'll get tomorrow's out vaguely earlier. I'm not as good with these as I was earlier in the challenge, but only two more to go now!


End file.
